


Home for Christmas

by skund



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Superman Returns (2006)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, WFGE 2009
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-14
Updated: 2009-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skund/pseuds/skund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Superman's first Christmas back on Earth doesn't turn out at all like he expected it to, but it's hard to tell if the break up, kisses or explosion was more unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for WFGE 2009, prompt F28: DCAU or Return/DK-verse. Clark trying to get Bruce to take a break from crime-fighting long enough to enjoy the holidays, and finally getting the courage to speak up about his feelings. Bonus points if Clark gives him a extremely corny gift, like a scarf with a bat design made by Ma Kent.
> 
> A huge thanks to [](http://fictionalknight.livejournal.com/profile)[**fictionalknight**](http://fictionalknight.livejournal.com/) for the wonderful beta, the squee and demanding I stop drooling over Kevin Conroy and finish this damn beast. :P

Gotham in the winter was nothing like Metropolis. The snow seemed to turn grey the moment it touched the city, coating the hulking buildings in yet another layer of gloom and piling deep in the narrow, filthy alleys. Gotham was always a city of shadows.

Superman hovered high above, gaze wandering across the sprawling city. Despite the grime, the darkness and the endless sirens echoing down street canyons he found himself drawn to the city with increasing frequency, and the reason eluded him. Metropolis was a glittering jewel at his back, resplendent in a pristine coat of fresh snow. But it was more than that ice made his home city shine. It was the way Metropolis embraced the seasonal spirit, the streets filled with glittering decorations and smiling faces. He could hear it even from across the bay; the Christmas parties and social gatherings bathed by the warm light of art deco chandeliers, open streets still busy despite the late hour, filled with friendly faces. Parks and squares filled with ornamented trees admired by the delighted, mingling crowd.

In comparison, Gotham was subdued. There were still gatherings, of course; friends and family meeting to share tables of food or laughter, or just the simple warmth of an open fire. But the streets were almost empty and the scattered decorations looked more resigned than rejoicing.

Superman was watching the darkened streets, caught in his own musings, when he caught a shape out of the corner of his eye. A shadow peeled away from the rest of Gotham's murk and danced across the rooftops, trailed by a swirl of liquid black. In that moment, Clark knew that it was not the city that keep drawing him to this spot.

There had been many surprises awaiting Superman upon his return from the broken husk of Krypton. It was to be expected, having been away so long. But the notion that his brief months of caped crusading would inspire others to follow suit had never even crossed his mind. Now, there were sightings all over the world of brightly coloured heroes: a red speedster in a costume almost as bright as his own over in Central City, a more conservatively dressed archer in Star City, some guy in orange who kept turning up and claiming he could talk to fish and, most notorious of all, the mysterious vigilante of Gotham City. Superman had made an effort to contact all these brave individuals in the months since his return and a tentative network had formed between them. But none intrigued, confused and infuriated Superman more than the Batman.

The Gothamite had been wary of him at first. It had taken nights of cat-and-mouse chase through the city, something Clark would have called juvenile if not for the dour nature of his quarry, to actually have a real conversation. But after that initial contact, things had changed rapidly between them. Superman kept finding excuses to visit Gotham, and Batman kept finding reasons to request his presence; in a purely professional manner, of course. Then one night, Superman had happened to drop in to find Batman seriously wounded and bleeding out in a filthy alleyway. Superman had frantically carried him back to his base, under a regal old manor of all places, although the remnants of scaffolding hinted that the building wasn't as old as it looked. In that night of blood and fear he had learned a lot more about Batman and Bruce Wayne than he ever thought he would. After that, it seemed only fair to tell him about Clark Kent, the Daily Planet and Smallville' but the lack of surprise beneath that cowl led Superman to believe that none of it was a revelation to Batman.

Since then, Superman found himself a frequent visitor to Batman's cave, spending the early hours of the morning with the roar of the waterfall in one ear and Batman's quiet baritone in the other. He supposed he'd call the man his closest friend, despite the Batman's reserved nature. Then again, Superman didn't exactly have many friendships for comparison. All he knew was that a pair of uncanny blue eyes kept invading his thoughts, leading him here to this dark city. And here he was again, in a city that never seemed to respect him, let alone need him. But in a way, that was the most welcoming part of Gotham. It was one of the few places in the world where he felt he could let his guard down and be less than a superhero. Or possibly more.

Superman watched as far below Batman swung out on a grappling line over the street to slip into an alleyway on the other side. Minutes passed. Superman was tempted to descend and check on the scene, but he knew from experience how much Batman resented interference. He hovered, indecisive, until finally he saw Batman climb over the edge of the building and onto the rooftop. The dark figure paused, checked the pouches on his belt and then turned up to look right at Superman. Clark took that as an invitation.

His red boots touched down silently on the icy concrete. The drifts of snow dampened the sound of the city; the wail and roar of traffic retreated to a distant murmur. Bruce's heavy breathing was loud even against the race of his heart and little puffs of condensation spiraled away with each exhalation.

"Busy night?" Superman said casually, like they were two colleagues meeting over a water cooler. In some ways they were.

"I'll say," Batman rasped, falling into his broken snarl by default.

"Same here. I've stopped more robberies and counterfeiting rings in the last month than I have in the last six."

"Everyone's desperate this time of year."

Superman smiled sadly. "I wish they didn't have to be."

Batman just grunted in reply, taking out his grappling gun from a shadow amongst his cape and resetting the line.

Clark relaxed his stance and folded his arms comfortably over his chest, content just to watch and take a moment's peace.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Bruce's rough voice broke his reverie.

"Hmm?"

"I thought the Planet was having its Christmas party tonight?"

Clark slumped a little at the implied dismissal. "Oh, yes. But I had to leave, there was a major factory fire over in Brussels and I was just... on my way back. Thought I'd check up on you, make sure you weren't working too hard."

Batman just looked at him with unreadable eyes, as he refastened his grappling gun to his belt. Clark had never known anyone with such blue eyes before, even almost masked by black paint they made Clark's heart pause for some reason.

"Sorry, I know you hate-"

"Follow me," Batman said as he turned on his heel and strode towards the rooftop's edge, cape swirling around his ankles. He swung himself over the edge without a moment's hesitation and deftly scaled down the wall. His boots touched the alley's floor just as the Tumbler pulled up next to him, growling quietly.

"You're leaving?" Superman asked as he slowly floated down behind him, barely hiding the disappointment in his voice.

Batman activated a button somewhere on his gauntlet and the Tumbler's door slid open. He reached next to the driver's seat and pulled out a slim metal cylinder, pulling off the large cap. Pressing another hidden button on the smooth silver flask caused it to pop open and suddenly Superman could smell a sweet, warm scent in the air.

"Batman packs himself hot cocoa?" Superman laughed.

Batman snorted as he poured some of the steaming liquid into the cap and handed it to Superman. "Alfred, actually."

Superman took the offered drink gratefully, fingers just brushing against Batman's; the treated leather smooth and cool against his skin. Clark wondered if Bruce's skin would feel just as cool under his fingertips, but pushed the thought down quickly.

Batman leaned against the Tumbler and took a mouthful from the flask. He seemed to be considering Superman as his sipped at his drink. Something about the lines of Batman's body spoke of intent.

Superman watched him in return for a few long moments, then cleared his throat. "You're right, I guess I should be getting back. Lois will be wondering were I am."

Batman didn't move at all but instantly his demeanor changed and he was suddenly distant. "I'm always right."

Superman smirked as he handed the empty cap back. Leather brushing his fingers again. "Thanks for the drink."

Batman just nodded, absorbed in packing away the flask.

"Do you have any plans for Christmas?" Superman asked.

"The usual."

"... Right. Well, don't work yourself too hard. I'll see you later."

A silent wave of the hand saw Superman off as he rose into the sky and headed across the bay. It was only a matter of minutes until he reached Metropolis and soon Clark Kent was walking back into the bullpen of the Daily Planet, readjusting his tie. The large room was even more frantic than usual, with people milling about and talking loudly, but the music and free flowing alcohol showed that on this was a rare occasion the chaos was not due to some catastrophic news event. Unless you counted Jimmy's absurdly conservative attempt to spike the punch. Clark weaved between the groups of conversing people before finally spotting his target and making a beeline for her. "Hey, Lois, sorry I was just-"

"Oh hey, Clark, have you seen Perry?"

"No, I just got back-"

"Hmm, I think I saw him talking with Fredericks from Economics a while back. I gotta go hunt him down. Excuse me." Lois slipped past him, her small form made her look even more petite by the long, winter dress. Clark watched her disappear into the crowd, then turned away with a sigh. He was just considering how to spend the rest of his night when something collided with his legs, gripping him tightly.

"Hey, Clark!"

He looked down to see an unruly mop of brown hair atop a round, pale face. "Hey there, Jason. Are you enjoying the party?"

"Kinda. 'S pretty boring."

Clark laughed and reached down to ruffle Jason's hair. "It's a grown up's party. They're _always_ boring."

"Hey, there you are," Richard called to Jason, dodging around a group of riotous mail room boys. "You shouldn't go running off like that."

"He's alright," Clark replied.

"Yeah, I'm with Clark," Jason added.

Richard flashed a smile at Clark, holding out his hand down to Jason. "Come on, I've told you not to bother people here."

"Oh, he's no bother."

Jason huffed but obediently unwound his arms from Clark's legs and took Richard's hand. At that moment Lois appeared behind them. She slid an arm around Richard's waist and he turned to drop a kiss on her cheek.

"Perry's all set, are we ready to go?" she asked Richard.

"All set," Richard replied with a grin.

Lois kneeled down to Jason, rifling through the pocket on his jacket to pull out an inhaler. "Sweetie, we're going outside where the air is cold. I need you to take your Ventolin."

Jason nodded and accepted her ministrations. Clark watched the whole scene fascinated, but looked away the moment Lois glared up at him.

"So... you guys are heading out?" Clark asked casually.

"Yeah, we're going to go see the lighting of the tree down in Centennial Park," Richard replied.

"Oh, that should be nice."

"Yeah, yeah. Have you got any plans for the night?"

"Er, no. Nothing at all, really."

Lois, content with Jason's medication, stoop up then and fussed with her dress. "Oh I'm sure you'll find something, Clark. Have a good Christmas." She grabbed Jason's hand and used it to pull both him and Richard towards the elevators.

"Thanks. You too," Clark called to their retreating backs. Jason turned and waved goodbye. Lois didn't look back.

Clark found himself alone again. The party flowed around him, full of laughter and animated conversations, like a river around a stone. Clark sighed again, reached up to rub at his eyes, and came to a decision and turned to the stairwell. Thanks to long months of practice, no one even noticed him leave.

\---

The way his mother's face lit up when she opened the door to him almost made Clark's night. She reached up and placed frail fingers on his cheeks, pulling him down to drop a kiss on his forehead.

"Hi, Ma," Clark said warmly.

She smiled up at him. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow night?"

Shelby bounded out of the house, almost knocking Martha over in the process and ran up to Clark with her tail wagging excitedly. He grinned and reached down to ruff her ears and her tongue lolled out happily.

"I just thought I'd come see you," Clark said, looking up at Martha.

"Well, come in! Come in."

He followed her into the house and was immediately surrounded by warmth and the delicious smell of baking. He was soon sitting at the familiar kitchen table, tracing the wood scars with his fingers. Shelby had trailed after him and was now laying under his chair, tail wagging happily. Without asking Martha put a plate of pumpkin pie in front of him, then sat down across from him. Clark looked at the pie for a moment, and then at Martha. He picked up the fork but did little more than play push it around the plate.

"How are you doing, Ma?"

"I'm very well. And you, dear? Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. We had the Christmas party at work tonight. It was nice, even if I did have to leave for... you know." Clark made a flying motion with his hand.

"I'm glad, Clark. You work yourself too hard sometimes."

Clark chuckled. "What I do isn't work, I just do what I'm able. It all comes easy for me. It's Bruce that works himself hard. I flew by Gotham and he was out tromping in the snow, as usual."

"You're both very dedicated. Two peas in a pod, you two are."

Clark smirked. "I don't know about that, Ma."

"Well I do. I've never met the boy, but you talk about him all the time and he sounds just as dedicated and muleish as you."

"Thanks, Ma. I think." Clark laughed.

"What's Bruce doing for Christmas?"

"I asked him that, he said 'the usual'."

Martha looked at him inquiringly.

"He doesn't have any family, I guess he doesn't do much for the holidays."

A sad light entered Martha's eyes. "Oh, you should go visit him then, on Christmas Day."

"What? No Ma, I'm coming here to be with you."

"Yes, dear." Martha reached across the table and wrapped her tiny, worn fingers around one of Clark's hands. "But I don't expect you to sit around here with an old lady all day. Besides, I'll probably go have a nap in the afternoon. You should go spend time with your friend."

"It's alright-"

"Ah, ah, ah. Do this for your old mother, will you?"

Clark met her eyes and held her gaze for a moment. "Okay, Ma."

"Excellent," Martha said, patting his hand.

Clark smiled slowly, looking down and still playing with his pie. "Jason was at the party tonight."

"Oh," Martha said sadly.

"He looked good. He's growing so fast, he's bigger almost every time I see him," Clark said, his smile growing.

"I take it Lois was there too?"

"Yeah, she was there. She looked great. But we didn't talk much, she gets busy," Clark looked up just in time to catch the disapproving look on Martha's face. "She does. And she... It's not her fault... She doesn't know who I am, not really. She's different around _him_."

Martha tutted. "She knows you're a kind, well-mannered boy from Smallville. If she thinks there's anything in that which gives her reason to be rude, well I..."

Clark raised an eyebrow at her.

"... Well, you know I don't like to criticize people I hardly know. But there's a word for people who can't find it in themselves to be courteous to others."

"She's not like that, Ma. She's just... complicated. Things are complicated."

Martha made a noncommittal noise. "Well it sounds like your Bruce doesn't feel the need to treat you like an idiot when you're not flying about."

Clark shook his head. "Bruce is... Bruce. And those two remind be so much of the other sometimes. They can be so alike, but in other moments completely different."

"You can do better than that woman, Clark," Martha stated.

He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "I... there's... things. I don't know, Ma. Can we talk about something else?"

"Of course, dear. But you know I only mean the best for you."

Clark smiled slowly at her. "I know, Ma."

"I just want to see you- Oh my goodness," Martha said, catching sight of the wall clock ticking solemnly in the hall, "dear, you know I love it when you come visit."

"Is everything okay?"

"It's just that I told Ellie and the girls I'd be 'round tonight. She's been inviting me for Christmas every year since I've been alone. Now you're back of course, but-"

"It's fine, Ma. I understand. You go have fun with the girls."

"You can stay here, of course. I'm sorry, I didn't expect you to drop by tonight."

"It's fine, I promise."

Martha reached across again to touch his hand, and Clark leaned over the table and kissed her cheek.

"I'll see you later, Ma."

Martha rose from the table, gathering her coat and bag from the hallway. She called a final goodbye as the front door closed. Clark heard the old pickup roar to life, then followed the ancient growl of it as it rolled down the driveway and out along the lane.

Clark sat in the stillness of the house. He could hear its creaks and sighs as it settled in the cold night air. The clock ticked steadily and there was a crack as a smoldering log in the wood-fired oven broke. Shelby's tail thumped occasionally against the linoleum floor. Clark found himself sighing again. He was always winding up alone these days. He ate a few mouthfuls of pie, but for some reason it just didn't taste how he remembered. A memory came back to him, sitting at this very table with his father handing him a plate of Ma's pie with a wink. Pa had always cut Clark the biggest piece and pretended that Ma didn't know. She's always busy herself at the counter, letting the boys play their game, all the while with a smile on her face. Clark felt himself smiling slightly too, then abruptly the memory faded.

He wondered briefly if Bruce was back from patrol yet, or if he was still braving the winter's chill. He could swing by the cave and see if he was there. But then, Clark had bothered the man enough tonight. He didn't want to wear thin the welcome of just about the only friend he had. Clark decided he'd just head for home. He gave Shelby a goodbye pat, made sure the house was locked up, and took to the sky. Snowflakes accompanied him all the way home.

\---

The cave wasn't any colder than usual this time of year; the layers of rock kept it insulated from both the summer sun and the winter freeze, but somehow it always felt colder in the winter. Maybe it was the pale grey light that filtered through the waterfall, or a chill from the water itself. Batman was hunched over at the computer, trying to suppress a shiver. His cowl was off and his hair was sweat slicked to his skull. He was quickly trying to finish up his post-patrol notes before Alfred discovered him and gave him an earful about chills and stubborn boys and pneumonia. He was almost done too, just had to cross-reference that last tip off about the Narrows-

"Ah, you have returned, sir."

It took all the training Bruce had to not flinch at the sudden, if familiar, voice.

"Do you intend to catch your death of cold, or is this one of those endurance tests you're so fond of?"

Bruce bit back a sigh.

"In either case, I must commend you on your persistence."

"I was just finishing up here, Alfred."

"Excellent, sir. I shall run you a bath momentarily." Alfred bowed slightly, but his eyes were bright with amusement. He began fussing around the cave behind Bruce, picking up the discarded gauntlets.

"Actually, I was just going to go straight-"

"Nothing like a good soak to warm the bones, sir."

"Of course, that sounds like an excellent idea," Bruce replied with a resigned smile.

"You know, you really needn't push yourself so hard, Master Bruce. Gotham's criminal fraternity will still be there after the snow has cleared. I'm sure they're not as dedicated to their cause as you are."

"I need to be out there, Alfred. I need to be seen; Batman is a force that doesn't just disappear when the weather gets bad."

"Batman is going to give himself pneumonia, if he's not careful. We wouldn't want a repeat of last Christmas."

"I'll be fine."

"Humph. How is Mr. Kent coping with the silly season?"

Bruce's brain stumbled over the _non sequitur_. He turned to look over his shoulder at the butler. "What?"

Alfred, standing next to the still open Tumbler, held up the flask Bruce had shared with Clark earlier. "I've never seen the Batman condescend to drink cocoa without some prompting. And your social circle is rather diminished of late."

"What? No, I offered him a -" Bruce trailed off into a sigh. "He's at the Daily Planet Christmas party."

"Well, it's comforting to see some heroes know how to unwind."

Bruce rolled his eyes. Alfred was getting more scathing with each passing minute.

"You should ask him around for Christmas luncheon."

Bruce frowned and looked up from his work. "I'm sure he's got better places to be, Alfred."

"Well, there's no harm in asking. There's plenty of space for another guest. Or any guest."

"I think he said he was going to his mother's. And he might want to... He has someone. He might want to see her."

"Ah, a lady friend?"

"Yeah, Lois Lane," Bruce replied distractedly, suddenly intently focused on his work.

"The investigative reporter at the Daily Planet?"

"Yes."

"Didn't she win a Pulitzer this year?"

Bruce hummed in acknowledgement.

"Ah, yes, I remember now. She wrote a blistering feature titled 'Why the World Doesn't Need Superman'," Alfred said with a raised eyebrow.

Bruce closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He must be tired, he'd walked right into that one. "I don't... Look, he's..." Bruce trailed off as he noticed Alfred giving him a most peculiar look. "What?"

"It's not like you to take an interest in the love life of others."

"What? I'm not prying-"

"I didn't imply that you were, sir. It was merely an observation."

"He needs someone. To keep an eye on him, keep him grounded. She'll be good for him. I'm just... making sure he gets what he needs."

Alfred raised an eyebrow at him.

Bruce huffed.

"Inform Mr. Kent that a place will be set at the table for him for 1pm, if he so desires to attend. Your bath will be ready in ten minutes," Alfred said. Apparently having achieved whatever it was he'd set out to do, Alfred finished fussing about the cave and headed for the stairs to the manor.

Bruce sat still, elbows on knees and hands hanging between them, and just stared at the screen before him. A moment later the words swam before his eyes and the cold ache in his muscles that he'd been ignoring all evening suddenly hit him. He slowly got to his feet, fumbled with the catches on his Kevlar armour, and let the plates lie where they fell as he headed towards the stairs himself. Maybe he would ask Clark for Christmas. It would be nice to have someone else around for the day, and Clark was so... Clark. He practically oozed festivity, with that endless grin and those sparkling eyes. Bruce refused to admit to himself that he'd spent hours subversively watching Clark just to see that smile. But that was beside the point; it would make Alfred happy to have Clark over for Christmas. Bruce paused, halfway up the stairs. Yes, that definitely sounded like a strong course of action.

\---

The next day was Christmas Eve. The bullpen of the Daily Planet looked none the worse for wear the morning after the party, but some of the staff weren't so lucky. At least of the few that turned up; most were already on holidays or weren't on that shift. Clark welcomed the unusually subdued mood as he hunched over his desk, trying to write up a few stories early so he could have more free time over the holidays. He was about to file his second story for the day when a shadow over his desk made him look up.

"Lois! Hi. What are you doing here? I thought you and Richard were on leave?"

"Oh, hey. Just came in to pick up a few things. Do you know if the mail has been by yet?"

Clark's welcoming smile slipped just a little. "Um, no, I don't think so."

"Oh, well. Never mind. You have yourself a good Christmas, Clark."

"Thanks, Lois, you too." Clark smiled at her and she smiled back briefly before heading back to the elevators. This time Clark didn't watch her leave, going straight back to his work.

He was in the middle of a tricky paragraph when a shout reached his ears. Clark looked directly up through the ceiling to see Lois standing on the rooftop, coat huddled around her in the icy wind. He blinked in surprise. Things had become strained between them after the jubilation of Superman's return wore off; Lois wouldn't tell him Jason's parentage to his face and he couldn't bring himself to reveal his identity after the disaster last time. Their rooftop rendezvous had become less and less frequent and eventually Clark had stopped watching for her at all. Her presence now was... interesting. Clark glanced around, but no one else on the floor was looking his way. He got to his feet and slipped out into the empty stairwell. Moments later, Superman was rising up out of the alley behind the Daily Planet, unheeded by the scarf-wrapped people below.

"Good morning, Lois. Merry Christmas." He startled her; he usually did. She gasped and whirled around to face him, hands still bunched in her coat.

"Superman, hi. Thanks for coming. I wasn't sure if you... It's been a little while."

Superman just nodded once and stepped closer to her, shielding her from the worst of the wind. His cape danced around them. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes. I... Yes."

Superman gave her an inquiring look.

"What? I can't just call you for a chat anymore?"

Superman tilted his head slightly, still watching her. Lois' behaviour was even more out of character than her presence on the roof. He studied her, trying to work out what she wanted. Luckily he'd had a lot of practice lately dealing with people who didn't speak their mind.

She smiled nervously at him. "Okay, so I haven't been around much. I've been thinking, for a long time, really. I don't..." She trailed off with a sigh that almost sounded like a sob. "I don't think I can do this any more. That _we_ can do this."

Superman froze, his face perfectly calm but his mind immediately raced. Every assumption he had made of the conversation crumbled. "... Oh."

"It's not you, Superman. I... I have a fiance, who loves me. Very much. He's a wonderful partner, he adores Jason and-"

Clark opened his mouth to interrupt but Lois steamrolled over him.

"And I need to do what's best for my son right now. And that's to be certain." She took a step closer to him, face tilting up to keep their gazes locked. "And I'm certain, now. I can't be two people. I can't split myself like this. I need to make a choice. And I have. … I'm sorry."

Superman was speechless, his ears were ringing. Was this what breaking up felt like? Feeling the bottom ripped out of your world and only nothing beyond. But then, didn't you need to be in a proper relationship to actually break up? It still hurt. He barely even saw her these days, and it still hurt. She was one of the few friends he had. An odd wave of relief washed over him; Clark would still have her. Have someone to see almost every day, someone to talk to, even if it was just Lois asking to borrow his pen. His eyes were fixed on hers, but he was no longer seeing her face. He could almost see a ghost of piercing blue eyes beyond, in the shadows. The tightness in his chest eased slightly. He wouldn't end up truly alone.

"So... say something. Superman..?"

Superman inhaled slowly. "Oh..."

"That's it? That's all you can say?" Lois was almost under his chin now, and all that hesitation was washed away by indignation. "I thought you'd be- You know what? It _is_ you. You're so...," She waved her hands up and down, "_you_. I don't know anything about you. You swoop in and then disappear and you never answer _any_ of my questions, not properly." She suddenly froze, putting her face in her hands. "I'm sorry," voice muffled by her fingers, "I'm sorry. I promised myself I wouldn't get angry." Lois dropped her hands. "I still... okay, this sounds incredibly selfish, but, I still need you. And I'll need to later when... never mind. Later. I need to know that you'll be there."

For the first time in minutes Superman knew exactly what to say. "Of course," he breathed.

Lois smiled slightly. "Thank you. You have meant a lot to me, more than you know."

Superman smiled softly back, and now the first stab of the blade was in he didn't really feel anything. The whole city seemed to wash over him, with him a passive observer. Lois was breaking up with him. It would snow again before nightfall. A bus had just broken down on the lower west side.

Lois took a step back from him. "So I guess that's it... Oh, wait," she rummaged around in the purse hanging off her arm. "I got you a-" she held out the small, white rectangle to him.

"A Christmas card?" Superman said in disbelief, automatically accepting it.

"It's just a little card. I do want to keep in contact with you. I wanted to get you something but... what do you get the man who has everything?" She laughed nervously. "And look at me, I'm babbling. This is it, I guess. … Goodbye, Superman." The last two words were spoken with such finality Superman could almost hear them ring.

He watched her for a long heartbeat, a million words running through his mind but only two he could say. "Goodbye, Lois."

She gave another nervous smile, then turned on her heel and strode towards the door, huddled against the wind. This time he did watch her leave, down the elevator and out into the lobby where Richard was waiting and Jason threw his arms around her waist. Superman let the image slip away and a moment later nothing more than the concrete of the rooftop looked back at him.

Some time later, much longer than Superman had thought it had been given the amount of snow that had been driven against his boots, he looked down and pulled the card out of its envelope. There were robins on the cover, bright against the snow like blood.

\---

Clark had never been so glad to see the welcoming porch lights of the farm. He'd promised himself that when Ma opened the door he wouldn't break down, but then she was there with an apron around her waist and flour smudges on her cheek and he just couldn't hold it anymore. She wrapped her arms around him without question or comment and he gasped a broken sob. Over the following minutes he told her the whole story, in between sniffles and cups of coffee and reassuring hugs. It was cathartic and later, sitting once more at the battered kitchen table, a peace fell over him.

Martha was sitting next to him, one hand on his massive shoulder and the other curled around his own hand. Clark smiled weakly at her and she rubbed his shoulder.

"These things have their own kind of hurt, dear. But it will pass."

Clark exhaled slowly and smiled at the offered comfort. "Thanks, Ma. I know I should have expected this, and it's not like we were really together anyway but..."

"Nonsense. The first cut always hurts the most, no matter how invulnerable you are. And I know you probably don't want to hear this right now, but you can do better."

"Ma-"

"I'm serious, Clark."

Clark gave her a pleading look and Martha let go of his hand to pat his cheek. Clark finally looked around the kitchen, noticing the array of bowls, pots and vegetables scattered across the counters. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. Do you need any help."

"Nonsense, dear. You'd never interrupt. And I'm fine, it's just the two of us so there's not a lot of cooking."

Clark eyed the mountain of food warily.

"Why don't you relax, and I'll keep on with the 'taters." Martha climbed to her feet and tottered back to the vegetables, humming away as she worked and occasionally chatting with Clark. He was content to watch her work, just sitting quietly in the calm of his childhood home.

"Did you ask Bruce if-" Martha said, after a while.

"No, Ma, I didn't. Besides, he's probably out working tonight."

"On Christmas Eve?"

Clark shrugged. "If anyone needed me, I'd be out there too. I guess I should be, really."

"No, you should not. Everyone deserves a break now and then.."

"Try telling him that," Clark replied with a smile.

Martha looked at him wryly for a moment and Clark almost laughed. "What?"

"Well, it's just that you turn up on my doorstep in tears about Lois but it's not her name that pops up every other minute."

"What? You _asked_ me-"

"Calm down, dear. I was just observing."

"I don't get why you keep bringing him up."

"I just think he'd be good for you."

Clark froze. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. You've spent more time with this boy than you have with Lois, or anyone else on Earth since you got back. Save, your Ma, of course. Seems to me that... well..." She shrugged her bony shoulders, eyes focused on her cutting board.

"Ma, I'm not-"

"I don't care what you are, or aren't. You're my son and you'll need someone to look after you when I go."

Clark looked appalled. "You're not going to die!"

"Of course I am. Everything does, dear. Growing up here, you should know that better than most."

Clark buried his face in his hands. "I am not having this conversation with you."

"Clark, I just want to see you happy."

"I know."

"And you've always struggled to find your own path, more than most. Maybe..."

Clark raised an eyebrow at her.

"Maybe it's because you haven't considered the right path for you yet. Lord knows you've spent so much time hiding your true self..."

Clark watched her for a long minute, then heaved a sigh. "If it makes you happy, I'll go see Bruce tomorrow."

Martha beamed at him and Clark wondered what he'd gotten himself into. She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried off to the living room.

"Ma?" Clark called after her.

She reappeared a moment later with a grey and black bundle in her hands. "I made this for Bruce, so you can give it to him. Well, Ellie's youngest helped with the casting off last night. You know how my hands get with the cold." She placed the item on the table in front of Clark and he reached out to unfold it, then cringed.

"Bats? You knitted him a scarf with _bats_?"

"I thought it would be appropriate," Martha replied primly.

"Do you even remember that reindeer sweater disaster in junior hight? Ma, he's not going to wear this."

"Nonsense, it's a nice warm scarf. Everyone needs a scarf."

"You've been making this a while haven't you. What were you going to do if I refused to go see him?"

Martha was silent.

"You weren't going to let me refuse, were you?"

"Well, you can be such a stubborn boy, sometimes...."

"I can see where I get it from." Clark laughed.

Martha half-heartedly flicked her tea towel at him, which he dodged.

"Why don't you drop by Bruce's now? Make sure for tomorrow."

"Would you quit!" Clark sighed. "If I go now, will you quit bugging me?"

"Of course."

"Okay, I'll go." Clark stood and bent to kiss Martha on the cheek. "I'll be back soon."

"No hurry."

\---

It did snow again by nightfall. By the time Clark made it to Gotham the sun was long gone and the snow was falling fast. He flew by the Manor, but it was dark and still both above ground and below, and he didn't stop. The city itself was quiet too, the heavy snow keeping all but the most determined souls indoors. He didn't spot Batman on any of his usual patrol routes and the stray police reports he picked up didn't pinpoint any trouble spots. He was about to circle back and start again when a roar ripped though the air as a massive explosion lit up the skyline. Superman was hovering above the burning mess before he could consciously think about it. He was at the notorious Gotham docks - a haven for arms dealers, drug traffickers and worse - watching the wooden planks below blacken and burn.

Superman peered through the smoke and flames, but the few people he saw were either already fleeing or well beyond his help; his heart lurched at the sight of the blackened, twisted bodies. Then, he spotted two figures huddled on a burning rooftop. It was the work of moments to dive in and rescue them, depositing them a safe distance from the fire. One just started at him wide eyed before turning to run, but the other gave him a startled nod of thanks before following her parter. Superman left them for the local authorities to sort out; the squall of approaching sirens announced the arrival of almost half the GCPD. Superman keep his distance, hovering in a bank of smoke, the ash sticking in his hair. He was just running a final visual sweep and mentally composing a recap for Bruce later when a flash caught his eye. Or rather, the lack of a flash. There was a patch of the dark, still water that seemed dull compared to the rest, absorbing the moonlight. Superman flew closer, intrigued, then his stomach dropped. He dived down to scoop the shadow from the water and then Batman was in his arms, still and wet and so very, very cold. Superman's mind was blank for a moment as he just stared down at his friend, that chin and jaw he could recognise anywhere pale and slack. Then his mind kicked out of its shock. He flew down to a deserted rooftop and gently laid Batman out. Fingers to his neck and there was a pulse, weak and cold but wonderfully present. But no breath, and no reaction. Superman's fingers pulled at the hidden catches of the Kevlar suit, resorting to brute force for the ones he couldn't find. Bruce's lack of protest was more chilling than the coolness of his skin. Clark rolled him onto his side, opened his mouth and water trickled out. But too little, for the time he'd been underwater. And still not breathing.

Clark knew what to do, he _knew_ what to do. Compressions and breaths and repetitions all scrabbling in his brain as he laid his hands on Bruce's chest. But if he pushed too hard, went to fast... he'd kill him. But if he sat here staring like an oaf, he'd kill him. And he'd lose another cornerstone of his life today. Clark carefully rolled Bruce onto his back. He took a deep breath, held it and then gave it to Bruce, lips sealing over Bruce's cold mouth. Then compressions on his chest and Clark flinched as he could feel ribs shift beneath his hands, flesh bowing and giving and it was everything he fought against, every day, to push someone too hard, to go too far. But Bruce still wasn't breathing. Another breath given, then compressions, harder, rougher, too much, too much... then Bruce _heaved_ and sea water was spilling over his lips. Clark rolled him onto his side again and the water gushed out, pooling around Bruce's head. He breathed.

They both did, as Superman let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Bruce's breathing was harsh, sounding broken and painful, but it was there. Clark closed his eyes as an incredible wave of relief washed over him. Batman was unconscious, eyes closed, but he was breathing and his heartbeat was getting stronger by the second. Superman detached his cape from his shoulders, carefully wrapped it around Bruce and took him home.

The Manor was still dark, and Bruce was still freezing. Clark had to break the lock on the balcony doors to Bruce's room, flinching at the invasion of privacy. The room, in the brief moment Clark took it in, was nowhere near as opulent as he'd imagined. The quilts on the large bed were old and loved, rather than modern and fancy, and Clark imagined their familiar comfort could provide extra warmth. Bruce was still in his fitted under-armour vest, Kevlar pants and boots. Clark started at him for a moment, lying in his arms, then carefully lay him on the plush carpet and worked the last of the soaking armour off. He scooped Bruce back up and tucked him into bed in only his shorts, then going to strike a fire in the large fireplace. The room heated up quickly, Clark could feel it as he sat watching Bruce. His breathing had evened out considerably, and the blue tint was fading from his lips. Clark finally allowed himself to feel relieved. He sunk down into the comfortable chair, the fire warm against his side.

His mother's words drifted back to him, in the silence of the room. He did hold Bruce in high esteem; his friendship meant a great deal. And Batman was the only person in the world apart from Martha who knew all the facets of Clark's life and accepted him completely. Bruce was not only the one he went to when he needed help, but the one he went to when he needed nothing at all. Just someone to tell a story to, someone to make smile or just to listen to. But that didn't mean he was in... that didn't mean he liked Bruce like that. Even if Clark's lips still burned from their brief brush against Bruce's, and his heart still ached from that moment of discovery; that one horrible second when he thought Batman had drowned and gone and Clark was truly alone. Surely not... Clark would know if he was... And even if he was, there was no way that Bruce would... Clark huffed. This wasn't helping.

Bruce groaned, brow furrowing as he regained consciousness. Clark was beside him in a second, leaning down low over the bed. Bruce moaned and started thrashing, throwing off the warm blankets and fighting the pillows. Clark wrapped strong hands around his shoulders, trying to hold him down, keep him in the warmth. Bruce's eyes flew open and they were wild, almost staring straight through Clark, who breathed a sigh of relief. Bruce was awake, he was okay. He was here and warm and alive and-

Clark froze as Bruce surged up under his hands, wrapped his own hands around Clark's face and kissed him. Bruce slid his lips slowly, sensuously, against Clark's, all warmth and sudden fire. His hands were curled tight into Clark's hair, holding him close, but it never occurred to Clark to pull away. It was... nothing like he'd imagined, and nothing like his earlier desperate attempts to restore Bruce's life and Clark marveled at how he could spend every day _not_ obsessed with feeling Bruce's lips on his own. Bruce's teeth were worrying Clark's lips, needy, and Clark suddenly realised he had no reservations at all in giving. Not to this brilliant, fearsome and infuriating man. Bruce nipped at his lip again and in response Clark opened his mouth, giving Bruce whatever he needed. Bruce accepted without reservation, running his tongue along Clark's teeth, then sucking on his tongue. Clark moaned at the heat of Bruce's mouth against his, the slick slide of their lips and the heat which had begun pooling low in his belly. Bruce suddenly broke away at the noise, looking up at him with those blue eyes, lust-blown and relaxed, then suddenly fearful. His hands flew out of Clark's hair and he dropped back onto the bed, aghast.

"Oh God," Bruce croaked.

"Bruce?"

"Oh God. I'm sorry."

"What? No, it's-"

"I'm sorry, oh _God,_" Bruce continued, not listening. He was pushing at Clark, trying to make him move so Bruce could crawl out of bed. There was no strength left in his arms, his hands trembling.

"Bruce, it's okay," Clark was trying to catch Bruce's head in his hands, but the other man was resisting him. "Don't get up. You need to rest."

"I need to-" Bruce trailed off, eyes fixed on a point on the far wall.

"Rest, just rest. Everything is fine," Clark murmured. Bruce wouldn't look at him. Clark pushed the exhausted man back down onto the bed, then retreated. Bruce rolled over onto his side, facing away from Clark, and either fell asleep or feigned it perfectly, Clark could never tell with him. Clark retreated back to his chair, watching over the bed. The clock on the mantelpiece counted off long minutes. Bruce's breathing was even, keeping time. Clark kept absently running a thumb across his lips.

Almost an hour later Clark stood and turned to go. He paused for a moment with his fingers resting on the glass balcony door, and in the reflection of the room saw that Bruce was watching him. He turned and slowly walked back to the bed, Bruce watching him all the while.

"I'm sorry," Bruce rapsed again. "I wasn't thinking before."

Clark didn't reply, just brushed a few loose strands of hair out of Bruce's face. He frowned up at Clark, clearly not one of the responses he'd planned for. Clark leaned down and pressed a kiss to Bruce's forehead; the skin cooler than his lips, feeling the bone underneath. Then another, against his earlobe, tiny hairs tickling his lips. Each kiss and each inch of Bruce's skin was different, as varied and unpredictable as every night he'd shared with Bruce. Clark decided on the spot that we wanted to test every last patch of skin. He felt off balance, in a wonderful way. The way Bruce had _looked_ at him before; no one had ever looked at Clark like that before. So completely unafraid and accepting of him. Clark wanted that again, even more than he wanted Bruce's skin under his fingertips.

Bruce was still frowning at him, and Clark smiled in return. "It's okay. I think... somethings require not thinking. I've been not thinking about you for a very long time." Clark sealed the declaration with another kiss, just against the corner of Bruce's lips.

Bruce's lips moved. On any other person Clark wouldn't have called it a smile, but for Bruce it was practically radiant.

\---

Bruce hadn't lasted much longer, eyes slipping close and exhaustion claiming him again. But this time Clark was curled around him in bed, Bruce's head resting on Clark's shoulder. It was odd and wonderful to have Batman pressed against his side, all hard muscle and long limbs. But it was a strangeness Clark was looking forward to getting used to.

He never intended to sleep but he must have, as he was woken by Alfred setting a tray of coffee by the bedside as the morning sun filtered in. Clark started and went to apologise or... something but Alfred merely pressed a finger to his lips and retreated from the room. The morning sun had slid a metre along the bedroom wall before Bruce even stirred. He awoke quickly, groaning as abused muscles complained. Clark found himself brushing Bruce's hair back again. "Hey."

Bruce blinked at him sleepily. "… I'm not dreaming."

Clark smiled. "No. How are you feeling?"

"'S Christmas."

"Yeah, it is. Are you okay?"

Bruce snorted and shifted against Clark's side. Clark reached down to gently brush Bruce's shoulder, then repeated the action when Bruce didn't shy away.

"Merry Christmas." Clark murmured.

Bruce was silent for a long time. "I'm sorry, this was a mistake," Bruce mumbled as he rolled away from Clark, curling into the covers.

"What? No..."

"I need to go." He climbed out of the bed, covers trailing behind him and staggered towards the door. The morning light was bright against his pale skin, the scars almost indistinct. Clark watched him go with sad eyes, feeling the sheets beside him already start to cool. Bruce was rejecting him too; the sensation was almost starting to feel familiar.

Bruce had made it out the door, leaning on the frame for support just out of Clark's normal vision, when he encountered an obstacle. "Not now, Alfred."

The butler was silent. Clark didn't have the heart to peer through the wall to watch the conversation but he could hear Bruce's voice.

"Please, just let me... No, not- Ouch!" Bruce appeared again in the doorway, scowling, with Alfred right behind him. The older man firmly shut the door behind Bruce, leaving him alone with Clark.

"Clark..."

"Bruce-"

"Stop. I can't do this. It was never my intention to lead you on, and for that I apologise."

"But last night you wanted to," Clark said quietly.

"I know, and I said I'm sorry."

"You wanted to kiss me."

Bruce was silent for a long time, eyes focused on him. "Yes."

"And now... you don't want to?"

"Clark, just-"

"Answer that question and I promise I'll go and never bring it up again. Why don't you want to kiss me now?"

Bruce closed his eyes and leaned back against the door, keeping maximum distance between them. The room was very quiet in the still Christmas morning, the sun radiant against the snow.

"Bru-"

"Because I _kill_ the people I love," Bruce interrupted harshly, face twisted in anger. He turned away from Clark, looking vacantly at the wall.

Clark breathed out softly as a million little pieces fell into place; moments in time and glances from behind the cowl that had puzzled him. The way Batman appeared to crave company, but refused to let anyone close. Clark slipped out of bed and crossed the room to stand near Bruce.

"B, you can't hurt me. I can't die." He reached down to collect one of Bruce's hands and laid it flat against his chest, over the 'S'. Bruce turned to look at their hands over that crimson and yellow curl.

"Everyone dies."

"Not me." Clark stepped closer, his proximity forcing Bruce to look up at him. His blue eyes were hard and bright but to Clark they had never seemed so brilliant.

"Don't be stupid, Clark."

"I'm serious. You don't have to worry about me."

"But I do." Bruce made the statement sound like a confession.

"You do?" Clark smiled softly.

Bruce scowled at him. "Of course. You are... the heart of all this." He spread his fingers over the red and yellow on Clark's chest. "To be a symbol, to stand without compromise and become part of a city." Bruce looked up at Clark, eyes shining, but the other man was scowling. "What?"

"I'm not just a symbol. Lois," he flinched at the memory, "only saw-"

"No, no, no, no," Bruce breathed, "I don't mean like that. _Clark_." Bruce's hands went to the bottom of Clark's tunic and pulled the slick material up over his torso. Clark obliged, lifting his arms up to let Bruce pull the shirt up over his head.. Bruce threw it carelessly behind them, then returned his fingers to their original position resting on Clark's chest. "Yes, I had the ideas before but it was seeing you, out there in your silly, garish suit that made it all come together."

"Hey, my Ma made this suit." Clark replied, breathing deeply to feel those five points of warmth against his chest.

"And that's what I love about you, Clark, you're so... You're a god, and you don't even realise." Bruce suddenly laughed.

"What did you say?"

"You're a _god_. You're perfect, you-"

"No, not that."

"Hmm? Oh... yes."

"You said you loved me."

Bruce looked again from him again. "Well, _technically_ I said-"

Clark suddenly pulled Bruce into a strong hug, making the man stagger against him. "Sometimes I want to throw you through a wall," he muttered into Bruce's hair. Bruce's arms went around his waist as Clark dropped kisses into those silken strands. "Please, Bruce, let's just give this a go."

Hair shifted under his lips as Bruce leaned up to capture Clark's lips in another kiss. Clark returned it with a passion, pulling Bruce's warmth closer to him. He could feel the other man's scars under his fingers, rough or smooth, and underneath the hard lines of muscle and sinew. The kiss seemed endless, a world of warmth and touch. Finally, Bruce broke it off to rest his head against Clark's shoulder.

"I'm not good with this stuff."

"I noticed."

Bruce made an indistinct noise into the curve of Clark's neck, but didn't pull away.

"But I want to try, with you."

Bruce was a solid weight against him, and it took Clark a moment to realise he was basically holding the exhausted man up.

"Let's talk about this later," Clark guided him back to the bed, pushing him unresisting down under the covers again. "We need to keep you warm, get over the shock of last night."

Bruce's eyes were closed almost before his head hit the pillow.

"There, that's it. Oh, I almost forgot," he turned and rummaged through the still-damp armour from the night before, pulling out his cape from the pile of black. Clark reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a soggy, woolen mess. "Damn, it's still wet," Clark muttered as he seared the mess with a wide beam of heat from his eyes. The mess steamed and the room smelled briefly of wet dog. "There we go," Clark stretched it out, the scarf now warm and fluffy again. The little bats were clearly evident along its length.

"What on Earth-"

Clark leaned over the bed and wrapped the warmed scarf around Bruce's neck, tucking the ends in under the covers. Bruce was giving him a caustic look. "Shh, Ma made it for you."

"Oh," Bruce's glare softened.

Clark fussed briefly with the scarf, then on impulse leaned in and pecked Bruce on the cheek. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Bruce replied sleepily. Clark waited until Bruce's slow, even breathing filled the room before leaving. The Christmas morning was bright and crisp as he flew home, the icy wind clean against his face.

Martha answered the door this time with concern, then a knowing smile in response to the grin on Clark's face. They shared a modest lunch at the kitchen table, falling into an easy conversation. He left hours later and fit to bursting with food, with more packed away for later, and arrived back in Gotham just as the sun was touching the row of cedars lining Wayne Manor's drive and Bruce was stirring from his sleep. Bruce smiled at him as soon as he work. Christmas Day was almost over and the year was almost gone, but in the fading light of the room all Clark could see was beginnings.


End file.
